Zairon reappeared, his boots echoing against the now-silent stone floor, crimson blood still steaming off his blade. The battlefield was littered with the carcasses of feral beasts, and the scent of iron mixed with the dungeon's dense spiritual energy.
He grinned at the two beauties who stood beside the wide-eyed herbalist.
"All clear. Not a single beast left to growl at you. Go ahead and pluck those shiny herbs now, old man. You're safe."
Master Belken muttered something about "bloody lunatics" under his breath and shuffled off with his pack, eagerly harvesting the rare crimson-rooted herbs.
Zairon turned to the girls with a sly glint in his eye.
"You two, this place's spiritual energy is thick—almost intoxicating. Would be a shame not to use it."
He stepped closer, voice dipping with playful mischief.
"Go ahead, cultivate. Don't be shy. I'll protect you—unless of course, you want me to help motivate you."
One rolled her eyes, smirking.
"Pervert."
The other laughed, but both sat cross-legged, letting the dense energy pour into them as they began to absorb the dungeon's aura.
Zairon leaned back against a boulder, arms crossed, watching over them with half-lidded eyes.
Belken soon returned, his pack full and face flushed with success.
"All gathered, lad. Should we head back now?"
Zairon shook his head lightly.
"Not yet. Let's all soak this place in a bit. This kind of spiritual richness doesn't come around often. You'll thank me later."
The girls remained in deep cultivation, and even Belken, grumbling under his breath, sat down and began to cycle his breath.
And so, for a time, in the heart of the A-rank dungeon, surrounded by the remnants of chaos, they rested—not just to recover, but to grow.